


(Un)intended recipient

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [27]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Gen Work, Letter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:37:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3180650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair should really learn to leave things alone. Like scraps of paper left beside the fire, for example.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Un)intended recipient

If Alistair had known what the inconspicuous note that lay folded on the log said, he would have left it alone entirely, or perhaps at least waited until the end of his watch. Or, ideally, he would have thrown it into the fire as soon as he’d laid eyes on it.

As it was, he sat down heavily on the log across from the Dalish elf, and took enough passing notice of the scrap of paper to unfold it, see what it was before he tossed it into the fire like any other piece of kindling. Judging from the elegant flourishes of each word, it was either Zevran’s, Leliana’s or Wynne’s handwriting. Too refined to be anyone else’s, and Alistair knew for a fact that Theron couldn’t write. He wasn’t so sure about Morrigan, though.

The ex-Templar looked up at the ranger over the flames of the campfire; his head was down, intent on fletching the latest batch of arrows he’d already spent the day making. He probably was too interested in his own task to notice that his fellow Grey Warden was reading something.

‘ _Mi amor,_ ’ The letter began. Ah, so it was Zevran’s handwriting. ‘ _I hope you can read my handwriting well enough_.’

Alistair looked up from the letter almost guiltily, the little voice in the back of his head suggesting that perhaps he should give the letter to it’s obviously intended recipient rather than pry like this. Theron was still busy with his arrows, a pile of goose feathers in his lap. The blond hesitated, eyes darting back down to the letter before he gave in and kept reading. He’d just have to put the letter back _exactly_ where he found it afterwards, and pretend he knew nothing about it if anyone else brought it up.

‘ _By now, I am probably asleep in our tent. I am not foolish enough to wait up half the night just to greet you at the end of the watch. You are free to wake me up if you wish, whether accident or no._ ’

Alistair squinted slightly in the firelight. For _Zevran_ this letter was rather tame. No mention of sex or use of the word ‘lurid’ anywhere so far. Some of his fears about what the letter might contain eased, he barely even spared the Dalish elf a cautious glance before he kept reading.

‘ _I_ _hope that I dream again tonight, they are so pleasant_.’ Alistair couldn’t help a minute nod of agreement. The nightmares that he and Theron suffered were growing worse the stronger the Archdemon became, but in a way that meant what dreams he had were all the more nicer as a result, a welcome reprieve from the staring eyes and hisses in the dark as he dreamed about dozens of mabari puppies.

‘ _Particularly when you are in them, amor. Should I be bold enough to describe my latest dream on paper, rather than wait for when you are by my side again?_ ’

Alistair looked up warily when he heard a sharp noise from the other side of the campfire - Theron had his carving knife clenched in one hand, and was sucking at the side of a finger on his other hand, muttering darkly about arrows for blood as he glared down at the sharp blade in his lap.

The heavyset blond shook his head slightly to himself, eyes straying back down the the paper, unfailingly curious.

‘ _I_ _would take your armour off, piece by piece, deliberately slow. I would then run my hands and lips all over you until you were impatient for more._ ’

Alistair felt a blush creeping up his cheeks as the delayed warning bells sounded in his head. He _really_ should stop reading. Now. Now. This was private. Very, _very_ private. Theron was only sitting _right there_ , and he was only oblivious because of his arrows. But there was a part of Alistair wrapped up in a kind of morbid fascination that won out over the rest of him. His eyes flicked on to take in the next sentence, a quarter of the way down the page.

‘ _I would put my mouth around your-_ ’

“What have you got there?”

The ranger’s unexpected voice made the ex-Templar jump very guiltily, and his head whipped up to stare at the Dalish elf sitting there with an eyebrow raised curiously.

“U-uhh...”

How elegant. _Well done, me_. His face was on fire, he knew it.

“Just a… A page from one of Leliana’s prayer books.” Alistair replied lamely, too quickly. The letter was crumpled up inside his tight, gauntleted fist by now. He stared at the watching elf, eyes wide as he swallowed nervously, probably looking like a startled deer.

“Hm.” Theron huffed in response, still staring and remaining still. “Was it interesting?” He asked, slowly lowering his eyebrow. There was a gleam in his eye, the kind of gleam that Alistair didn’t like to see.

For one panicked second Alistair wondered if perhaps Theron could read minds. But then again he was probably worse than an open book right now.

“Well… You know, it’s just a prayer book. Um, boring, really. Very boring. Un… Unimaginative.” The other Grey Warden forced a yawn as he tried to pretend his voice hadn’t just cracked, and tossed the ball of paper into the fire quickly. Theron watched it burn, grey eyes finally leaving Alistair.

“I see.” He eventually said, when the paper was turned to ashes, and he looked back at his arrows. “You know, it’s not nice to read other people’s things without their permission.” The ranger ventured casually, picking up a stray feather and twirling it between his fingers.

Alistair paled, and then the rest of the watch be damned, he fled for the safety of his tent. Theron watching him go, grinning once the ex-Templar’s tent flaps were firmly tied down. Behind him, Zevran poked his head out of their tent with a matching grin of mischief lighting up his face, and then quietly emerged to pick up their friend’s slack, fully armoured and alert.

“He read it, didn’t he?” The Antivan whispered, not wanting Alistair to hear.

“Of course he did.” Theron nodded, and the two stifled laughs at a successful prank.

**Author's Note:**

> This looks shorter than it felt to write. Either way, something quick and hopefully funny as I try to figure out the process of uploading pieces that are chronologically earlier in the series.  
> http://a-mahariels-travels.tumblr.com/post/108247740238/series-update


End file.
